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When The Lamb wandered towards Narinder's sunning spot, Narinder pulled his robe's hood down over his face. The Lamb would understand he wished to be left alone to enjoy the nice sun and did not want to be roped into whatever task they had on hand.
The Lamb plopped next to him with a noisy sigh.
Or perhaps not...
"Your older brother is..." they paused momentarily to gather their thoughts, "a bit much."
"You can say 'annoying,'" Narinder grumbled, adjusting his hood so only one of his three eyes peeked out towards The Lamb.
"I said he's 'a bit much,' not 'annoying'."
"Are those not the same?"
"Not the point." The Lamb rubbed their temples with the heel of their palms.
"Then what is the point? If you are here to bemoan your mistake of bringing him to the cult, take it elsewhere. I tried to warn you."
"I'm not." The Lamb jutted out their chin. "I'm being nice and giving you an update how your older brother is doing."
Narinder didn't want any updates on Kallamar. He wanted to lounge in the sun until he had to go prepare the temple for the evening's sermon.
The Lamb said, "Giving you and your siblings specific jobs seems to have helped you all adjust faster to mortal life."
Narinder conceded this fact with a slight nod of his head.
Leshy lived for the drama and fighting he encountered at the drink house. Nearly every other day, his youngest brother had some tale to tell of the night prior where he had to step in and calm down a particularly nasty argument—or goaded the fight into continuing, depending on how he was feeling.
As for Heket, she enjoyed cultivating the garden plants. If Narinder stood up from his sunning spot, he could easily see the sizable pumpkin his sister had been babying for the last month and a half.
"You gave a job to Cowardly Kallamar then?" Narinder smirked. "What do you have him doing? Scaring off birds with his shaking?"
"I brought him to the healing bay," The Lamb explained. "He was the god of sickness, so he must know what helps the sick, too."
Narinder made a noise of agreement, then added, "Let me take a guess: He spent ten minutes bragging about how true that was and telling you that you are a fool for not realizing it sooner?"
The Lamb slumped down into the grass. "Five minutes, but, yes, more or less."
Kallamar was insufferable. He had always been insufferable...and vain and annoying and a coward and--
"He was going through the herbs and tinctures when I left, " The Lamb continued. "I'm sure he will have a list of complaints about what we have and don't have when he is done." They threw their arm over their face with a groan.
Narinder knew he would. Unless Kallamar was in his own temple in Anchordeep, he would criticize and complain about every little thing, from how the bottles were stored to how the poultices were mixed.
Narinder stood, wiping the grass off his robes. "I will go check on him."
He had barely taken a step when The Lamb grabbed his ankle. "Don't go harass him. He needs time to adjust. You all did. Besides, I just brought him back from the dead. I don't want to waste bones doing it again so soon."
With a snort, Narinder pulled his leg away. He adjusted to being in this weak, ungodly body quickly. It only took him a week to remember he had to eat food and drink water every day.
"I won't make him cry," he promised, though he wasn't sure he would be able to keep it.
The Lamb sent a pointed look at Narinder, a wordless warning not to be a jackass.
Narinder rolled his eyes and started toward the healing bay.
Kallamar did not know that bothersome lamb had given him a Sisyphean task! Kallamar took a cracked bottle from the shelf and turned it over in his hand. Brittle leaves rattled against each other in the bottle.
It seemed half the bottles Kallamar had pawed through were like that. They were cracked, cloudy, dirty, or all three at once. Much of their contents had turned to dust or evaporated away to nothingness—completely useless!
How did that lamb keep a cult running with their medical supplies in shambles like this?
No wonder it took so long for Kallamar to heal when The Lamb forced him to join their pathetic cult.
Kallamar pinched the cork and pulled. Instead of popping out of the bottleneck, the top of the bottle snapped off at the crack near the base of the neck.
Kallamar looked from one part of the bottle to the other before heaving a sigh. He set the broken bottle top to the side then dumped the leaves into his palm to examine.
Kallamar jumped from the warm breath on his shoulder. The bottom of the bottle fell to the floor and, by some miracle, it didn't shatter.
When he spun around, he found himself face to face with death itself—his little brother, Narinder. No, no, not death. Not anymore. Kallamar had to remind himself that Narinder didn't have the crown. He held no more power than Kallamar, Heket, or Leshy. He was a lowly, earthly follower now.
Narinder raised his eyebrows before pointing back down at Kallamar's hand.
He said something, but Kallamar found himself still too shaken to pay attention enough to see what was said.
"W-what?" He stammered.
"Raspberry leaves," Narinder repeated, pointing again to Kallamar's clenched hand.
Kallamar opened his palm. He had accidentally crushed the dried leaves to dust when Narinder scared him. He wiped the powder off on his robes and did notice the slight scent of raspberry.
"What do you want?" He narrowed his eyes, focusing hard on Narinder's lips.
Without his crown to dampen the blaring tinnitus in his head and strengthen what little hearing he still had, he had to concentrate to understand what anyone said to him. Reading lips and paying attention to the slight sounds he could still pick out was all he could do.
Narinder straightened himself and took a look around the healing bay.
"I was told you were assigned to clean out this old place. I thought you might need some help," Narinder commented idly, as if he had just stepped in for a chat.
Kallamar knew better than that.
"I don't want your help."
He didn't want Narinder anywhere near him.
Kallamar turned around to the table to continue to sort through the bottles, boxes, and satchels of medicine. He had hoped that his curt reply would drive Narinder off, but instead of leaving, Narinder moved to sit on the bed, the least musty thing in the whole place. He stretched, yawned, then laid back with his eyes shut.
Of course, Narinder would not leave. Narinder never listened to Kallamar before, why would he start now? At least before, Kallamar could retreat to the safety of Anchordeep and his temple when Narinder antagonized him. Now Kallamar was stuck in this pathetic little base, in this pathetic, little body with no powers, no followers, and no place to go.
He gritted his teeth.
No, he was not going to let Narinder get to him. They were not gods anymore. Narinder was not death and Kallamar was not blight. Narinder was just Kallamar's annoying and pestering little brother now, nothing more.
He had to just ignore him. If he focused on his task at hand, he could do that with ease.
The medical bay's bed was comfortable, if a little too cool for Narinder's taste. If the bed was pushed towards the door and the warm sun, then it would be an excellent new napping spot. The Lamb wouldn't be able to find him as quickly and make him 'get back to work' or whatever other nonsense they ordered.
He sprawled, listening to the clinks of bottles as Kallamar worked. Every so often he would hear a mumble "What is this?" or a groan of frustration.
Narinder considered holding a one-sided conversation, mostly to annoy Kallamar when he finally noticed he was doing it, but decided against it. Just staying there after he was told he wasn't wanted was enough to mess with Kallamar. To Narinder pleasure, he had noticed a tenseness in Kallamar's movements and the occasional glances at Narinder when he thought he wouldn't notice.
Narinder rolled so his head lay off the side of the bed. He looked upside down at Kallamar.
Much like his younger siblings, when The Lamb hauled Kallamar from his torment in purgatory, they left all of his thousands of years of divinity behind. The air of godly power that somehow clung to Kallamar, despite his cowardly nature, evaporated when Kallamar fell face-first onto the indoctrination circle. How sickly and weak he looked then, barely able to hold his head up as an odd green color painted his face. The weakling spent days on bed rest before he was able to stand again.
Narinder almost laughed at the memory.
Kallamar took a wooden box from the counter and shook it. Pursing his lips, he pried the lid off. With a puzzled expression, he tipped over the box until the contents fell out to the tabletop. Kallamar carefully picked up something wrapped in paper and herbs. He pulled away at the wrapping before gagging.
He cringed and dropped the bundle back in the box. "Why?!"
Narinder rolled over to his belly and pushed himself up to his knees.
"What? What is it?" he asked, but Kallamar didn't respond. Instead, he held his face in his hands and groaned.
Narinder frowned. He took the pillow from the bed and threw it. Kallamar jumped when it hit his side and said a swear in a language no mortal spoke anymore.
When Kallamar turned to glare, Narinder repeated, "What is in the box?"
A smirk crossed Kallamar's face as he returned the lid with a sound tap.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"I would. That is why I asked."
Kallamar hummed in reply and set the box to the side. He proceeded to pop the top off of a cloudy bottle and give it a sniff, completely ignoring Narinder.
Narinder bristled with annoyance. He came here to mess with Kallamar, not to be messed with.
Narinder jumped to his feet and started towards Kallamar and the box. Kallamar snatched the box, holding it to his chest. Narinder stomped his foot down, knowing the vibrations through the floor would be enough to scare that coward into losing his grip.
A sharp pain shot up his leg from the sole of his foot. With a cry, he hopped back, lost his balance, and fell to his back.
He bit his tongue to hold back a cry, trying to force his head to stop spinning so he could focus on the stabbing pain in his foot. He hauled himself to the bed before he set his foot propped up on his other knee.
Glass and crushed raspberry leaf clung to his bloody foot.
It's from the bottle Kallamar dropped earlier, he realized. Kallamar had been so busy pretending to ignore him, that he never picked it back up.
An instinct Narinder usually ignored reared its head. With pain and annoyance on its side, the primal urge beat any rational thought. Narinder stuck his tongue out to lick clean the wound.
Kallamar grabbed him by the cheeks and forced his face up.
"Are you stupid? Do you want glass in your tongue, too?" He snapped.
Though Narinder knew he was right, he huffed in defiance and looked to the side.
Kallamar pulled his hands away. He carefully picked his way through the remaining shards and started rifling through items on the table. He hoped Kallamar would leave to find The Lamb or their younger siblings for help, but Kallamar returned a moment later and sat next to Narinder.
He held out his hand.
"Let me see your foot," he ordered.
Narinder snorted. "No. I will be fine." He pinched the largest piece of glass between his fingers and sharply pulled. A hiss of pain slipped from his teeth.
"Fine." Kallamar sniffed. "Get an infection, die of sepsis. I do not care what happens to you, anyway." Kallamar dropped the items he'd brought in a heap next to Narinder. Narinder stared at the blood dripping down his foot.
An infection? He couldn't remember when he had last had one, but he could remember the infections and sepsis he saw in his followers, the burning flesh, the oozing pus, and the writhing pain they were in until Narinder ended their suffering.
He groaned. Before Kallamar could get out of reach, Narinder grabbed his robes.
He didn't speak; he just met his older brother's eyes for the heartbeat his pride would allow.
For an instant, Kallamar looked fearful and untrusting, but his expression shifted to one of annoyance.
"You've always been such a pest," Kallamar grumbled, taking Narinder's hand off his robe.
The bloody glass shard clinked against its brethren on the red stained cloth.
Kallamar bend down to the bowl of steaming water he'd rush to the kitchen to get. He didn't dare light the fire pit in the medical bay to boil water. Whoever had been keeping the bay up before Kallamar had put baskets of vomit stained blankets right next to the pit. Some of the blankets had even spilled into the ring of stones, and Kallamar refused to touch something so disgusting with a new body so susceptible to illness.
He took a cloth rag from the bowl and rung the water out before pressing it to Narinder's foot. He would need to stitch up some of the gashes, but the skin had to be clean before he made any attempts.
Narinder hissed through his teeth.
"Oh, do not act like a baby." Kallamar rolled his eyes.
Narinder glowered, attempting to sit up from his back, but Kallamar lifted his foot up higher.
"This needs to stay above the level of your heart."
Narinder huffed and laid back down.
"I've seen you cut in half before. This should be nothing to you." Kallamar returned the foot to his lap.
"Being cut in half doesn't hurt," Narinder retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
A bellowing laugh burst from Kallamar's chest, making Narinder jump.
"You are a dirty liar. It does hurt--a lot, " Kallamar moved the rag away from the foot. He gave Narinder's foot one last wipe and a good look for any more glass before dropping the rag next to the glass pile.
As he picked out the needle from the bottom of the water bowl, he continued, "Your usurper cut me in half the first time they killed me." He pointed the needle to the top of his head and drew it down to his belly
He had fought for his life, sending wave after wave of curses and minions and Anchordeep beasts to kill that vile creature masquerading as a god of death. He accomplished his task twice before The Lamb came back a third time, accompanied by two small demons and a glowing, godly axe. It was this axe that the Lamb slew him with, striking him when he took less than a second to breathe. The Lamb sliced through his flesh and bone, leaving blood and pain in the axe's wake.
To add insult to injury, as Kallamar lay dying, he watched as a third demon came flying in, bringing with it a spirit heart for the victorious lamb.
"Foul, terrible, cruel creature..." he muttered, shaking his head.
Kallamar tied a knot in the silk thread. He had always preferred the use of catgut to close wounds, but dried intestines were among the many other materials the Lamb's medical tent lacked. He didn't bother to warn Narinder of the pain as he stabbed the needle into the soft flesh.
Narinder bit down hard on his lip as Kallamar worked to close the largest of the gashes. Kallamar took another rag from the side of the water bowl and wiped away the new blood.
If Narinder attempted to speak to him while he worked, Kallamar couldn't tell. His focus lay solely on closing the wounds. He felt calm, the most calm he'd felt since being indoctrinated into this blasted cult. Patching up wounds was his second nature.
As he pulled tight the last stitch on the final large wound, he saw Narinder's jaw moving out of the corner of his eye.
"What? Do you need to cry? Does it hurt worse than being cut in half?" Kallamar mocked.
He tied off the thread without having to look at his hands. He knew taking stitches without any type of numbing hurt, but he didn't want to give Narinder any pity.
Narinder made a rude gesture towards Kallamar with his middle finger.
"Lucky for you, I am all done sewing you up," Kallamar said, twisting the lid off a glass jar. Inside was the saddest excuse for a wound poultice Kallamar had seen in centuries -- there wasn't even any flax in it—but it would have to do to keep the wound moist and protected from dirt.
Narinder said something, but Kallamar was too busy slathering on the poultice to catch it. He set it aside and went for the bandages before turning his attention to Narinder's face.
"Hmm?"
Narinder opened his mouth, then shut it a heartbeat later. He looked away and shook his head.
Kallamar shrugged and started to wrap up Narinder's foot. As he worked, a thought came to him. He'd never dressed any of Narinder's wounds before then. Even before they sealed him away, Kallamar had never had to step in and suture closed gashes or apply honey and bandages to scrapes on him, unlike the rest of their siblings.
With how many fights Heket tended to pick, she was the worst of them, though Leshy was a close second since he liked to join Heket in her scuffles. Though uncommon, even Shamura had to be patched up when they underestimated the army or god they waged war against.
Narinder never needed wounds shut or a poultice applied. He would not scar. His wounds would not fester. He would die and bring himself back before that could happen.
Suddenly annoyed, Kallamar pulled the bandage a little too tight—not enough to cut off blood flow, but enough to be uncomfortable.
Kallamar lifted Narinder's foot from his lap and scooted out before dropping it unceremoniously back down.
"There. Done, " he said, tying up the cloth with the glass shards. He took them to a pile of old and broken containers he'd made earlier to throw out. He grabbed a straw broom and quickly swept the remaining glass on the floor into a pile. He was not going to risk having to use any of this cult's medical supplies on himself, not until The Lamb had replaced them with items of higher quality, at least.
Narinder moved his foot into his lap to examine the bandaging. An odd expression crossed his face, guilt or sadness, maybe? Kallamar didn't have time to dwell on it before that complete fool swung his legs out and attempted to stand.
Narinder yelped and fell back onto the bed.
"I will see about getting you some help to hobble back to your quarters." Kallamar waved his hand. "The sooner you are gone, the better for me."
He expected a snarky retort or another rude gesture, not for Narinder to smile softly at him.
"You know, I have seen you throw around your plagues and spread your miasma thousands of times," he mused. "I always found sickness a terrible way to die. There is no honor or glory in succumbing to a fever. It's pathetic."
Kallamar bristled, wishing he had tied the bandage even tighter.
Narinder chuckled. "Thousands of times," he repeated. "Thousands of thousands, even, but I only ever saw you cure sickness one time." He held up his pointer finger. "One of Shamura's soldiers brought back some sort of terrible illness, a cough that racked the body and fever that brought delirium, " Narinder recalled. "Shamura summoned me to help those that they knew would not make it pass on peacefully."
"I remember you actually scolded Shamura," Narinder shook his head, "and told them they should have called you sooner. That they know better than to let sickness spread."
Kallamar furrowed his brow. He vaguely recalled that. It was thousands of years ago, possibly more than that. Well before Heket or Leshy joined their family at the least, back when Narinder was the youngest bishop and Kallamar held less fear of him.
"You cured that whole army with ease, soothing their fevers and easing their coughs with merely a wave of the hand." Narinder met Kallamar's eyes. "I was jealous, you know."
"What?" Kallamar gasped. "You were jealous of me healing some mortal soldiers?"
There was plenty Kallamar could understand Narinder being jealous of, including his good looks, the glory of his temple, and the majestic beauty of Anchordeep, but that? Something so simple?
"I could only end suffering. I could not ease it nor erase it." Narinder looked at his hands, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "That has not changed, I'll admit."
Kallamar's chest twisted uncomfortably. How could Narinder have admire his abilities? Admire him? It made no sense.
He looked away, more emotions pulling at his heart. He should still be mad. It shouldn't matter what Narinder said. Kallamar should still hate him...
No, he never hated Narinder. He was scared of him, angry that his cult swelled while Kallamar's waned, upset about his handsome ears and hearing loss, saddened by chaining Narinder up for a thousand years, but he never actually hated him.
Kallamar blinked at the tears welling up in his eyes, but despite his best effort, they overflowed and ran down his cheeks.
Kallamar had his head turned away and was uncharacteristically quiet.
Narinder pursed his lips. He knew he shouldn't have said that, but the pain brought old memories to the surface and loosened his tongue.
A sniffle brought Narinder out of his thoughts. He winced as he saw Kallamar wipe his eyes with his wrist.
The one thing he had promised The Lamb he wouldn't do, make Kallamar cry.
He turned his attention to his lap, pretending he didn't hear anything. Kallamar stepped forward until his feet were in Narinder's line of sight.
"I have two little brothers and you are by far the worst of them," Kallamar stated matter-of-factly. "You are egotistical and annoying and a pain in my ass."
Narinder glared upwards, about to make a retort, when Kallamar continued, "However, you are still my brother, and it is clear we are stuck with each other here from now on. We should at least try to get along. Here. Fulfill your curiosity, Nari." He shoved the wooden box into Narinder's hands.
Narinder skeptically shook the box once before opening it. He took the object wrapped in brittle paper and herbs from inside and slowly pulled the paper back.
Inside was a dried, wrinkled, black-and-white spotted--
"By The First God's wounds!" Narinder yelped, dropping the bundle back into the box. Though he hadn't touched the dried flesh, he wiped his hands on his robes regardless.
"Is this a--?" He wrinkled his nose up.
Kallamar cackled. "A charm to increase male potency, yes. The wife's tale goes if one sleeps with a bull's manhood under their pillow it'll help them, well, you know." He clicked his tongue twice and jabbed his thumb up.
Narinder dropped the box as far from him as he could on the bed. He did not know why The Lamb had such a thing, and he did not want to ask.
"Disgusting. " He shuddered. "That can't possibly work."
"Oh, it doesn't," Kallamar shrugged, "but it is not the strangest 'remedy' for that particular problem I have come across. Once, some mortal brought me the foulest concoction I have ever seen, and claimed that was why he and his wife had so many children." Kallamar met Narinder's eyes with a serious expression. "They were rabbits."
The brothers held each other's gazes for a moment longer before their lips started to pull up and they both burst into laughter.
Kallamar wiped fresh tears from his eye. "Narinder...here." He held out his hand. "Let me help you back to your quarters. I'll have someone bring you some tea to help with the pain. I definitely saw some willow bark...somewhere in this mess." He gestured with his head to the table of herbs.
Narinder took his big brother's out stretched hand.
"Thank you, Kallamar."